You know that adage about weather in volatile climates? There’s one for David Bowie, too: If you don’t like David Bowie’s look, just wait five minutes. I wouldn’t call Bowie a chameleon; in fact, he’s often exactly the opposite – it’s hard to find somebody who blends in less wherever he goes. Fashion moguls, if you are about to go out for an evening and your accessory is David Bowie, you’re gonna re-think that outfit when you look in the mirror.
On the one hand, it’s hard not to applaud David Bowie, an artist in the purest sense of the word. Here is an aesthete constantly in search of unique contribution, never content to rest on success or medium or mode of delivery. It seems as if David Bowie also never let either his ego or society dictate his art, which is admirable. On the other hand, sometimes Bowie’s art comes off as so personal it becomes inaccessible to the masses. I’m sure many will see that as a positive quality; I see it as an uninformed rando staring at an LP while wearing an expression of both confusion and contempt. It should be lost on no one that of all the pre-1980 vintage concert footage in Moonage Daydream, the moment that got the biggest audience response was when David Bowie covered The Beatles “Love Me Do.”
Moonage Daydream is a somewhat comprehensive compendium of the life of David Bowie, artist. And you know what this documentary reminds me of? Every once in a while you come across some video of a prestigious entertainer playing in the subway for people who do not recognize them. In the video, the busy masses pass by unaware, treating the great talent as if they’re just another busker looking for enough money to feed themselves for an evening. The commentary is always the same: “if only these people knew who they were ignoring … if only they knew this artistry costs $$$ to see in a concert hall … they’re getting it for free and they don’t care.” To which I say the voice-over has forsaken reality. Art only matters if it speaks to you. Otherwise, it’s just background noise as you stroll through your life. David Bowie is a great artist, but he is that consummate undercover busker. If you don’t know his face or his music or his art, you’re gonna pass by. You won’t care. I don’t see this as a slight to Bowie; I see this as human nature. But, let’s get serious; Bowie ain’t Michael Jackson; he’s unlikely to make you stop if you’re not inclined to already.
Writer/director Brett Morgan didn’t seem terribly interested in getting at the root of any Bowie artistic stratagem as much as describing the man himself. The first half of the film is almost entirely a repeated cycle of David Bowie on a poorly lit stage, David Bowie expressing his philosophy du jour in front of a microphone, and some mildly relevant animation. Some critics have called this “hypnotic” and “genius.” Me? Less. What impressed me most about early Bowie was his desire to present as either gender neutral or gender dual. This, too, however, has its drawbacks. At Bowie’s best, he/she/they come off as a modern god of androgyny, a speaker for all who see gender as an unnecessary and inhibitive construct; at its worst, Bowie comes off as a dude cosplaying The Joker from memory.
And, damn my formative years spent in the style-over-substance 1980s; I truly feel that is when David Bowie was at his peak both in terms of presentation and artistic output. Please give me a tune with a melody and look that says “GQ” and not “Halloween Costume.”
That’s on me. Clearly.
Now, that all said; is this really a superior documentary? I have always felt the best musical documentaries make you
want to listen to the artist’s music. I had no such compulsion after watching this film. I love the daring of Bowie; I love the integrity of Bowie. It’s hard not to love a man who said (I’m paraphrasing) I hate El Lay, so I’m going to move there (entirely for the sake of artistic inspiration). Later in his career, he moved to “the most arduous city I could think of … West Berlin.”
Oh yes, I definitely respect Bowie. Do I love his music? No. Did I love this documentary? Also, no. But I certainly respect David Bowie.
I kept watching this seemingly endless series of Bowie snapshots and softball interviews thinking, “You know what I’d really like to see? The biopic of Bowie, where exactly one director and one actor really try to get to the heart of who David Bowie is.” Is the real David Bowie just too complicated for me? Perhaps. Do I not get his art? Well, that’s pretty obvious. I didn’t get his art as a singer, songwriter, poet, painter, actor, sculptor, breakdancer, philatelist, what have you. And yet, I’m impressed with all the directions David Bowie took. I’d rather have seen a better film, but whatchagonnado? I put my trust in God and man.
♪Thought Control to Steel Frog
Thought Control to Steel Frog
Finish up this damn review then you must move on
This is Thought Control to Steel Frog
You’re stuck within your brain
Trying to make sense of a man with many hats to wear
Now it’s time to attack Pearl if you dare
This is Steel Frog to Thought Control
Wish I liked Bowie more
I respect him in a most peculiar way
Yet I didn’t like the film I saw today…♫
Rated PG-13, 135 Minutes
Director: Brett Morgan
Writer: Brett Morgan
Genre: Playing to the converted
Type of being most likely to enjoy this film: Bowie fans, duh
Type of being least likely to enjoy this film: Anyone horrified by the idea of gender fluidity
♪ Parody Inspired by “Space Oddity”
